


Breaking the yearlings

by paceisthetrick



Series: Drabbles for Shells [19]
Category: No Night is Too Long (2002)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:27:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paceisthetrick/pseuds/paceisthetrick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For jbslasher's prompt :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking the yearlings

_Change  
The river is blocked  
The road is hot  
The sky is blazing  
Black smoke on the rise  
The weather rolls until it's on you and suddenly breaks _  
  
~ _Breaking the yearlings_ , Shearwater  
  
 **Warnings for gang rape and underage sex**  
  
When I was 10 I was taken by a group of fifth form boys behind one of the abandoned buildings near the lake. They came for me mid-morning on a Saturday. The looks on their faces told me all I needed to know.  
  
I had heard of such things and knew what to expect. My friend Craig had experienced the same thing one week earlier. His initiation was just one of a spate of these group outings. Perhaps it was because it was Spring and the mating season for all animals had begun. Perhaps it was because we were now deemed old enough for the experience -- yearlings ready to be broken. Perhaps it was simply a school tradition which, like so many others, lacked both rhyme and reason.  
  
James led me away from the safety of the school. He squeezed my smaller hand in his larger one. Several times he glanced at me, once lifting his hand to stroke my shoulders and run his fingers through my hair. He smiled at me but I saw that he was nervous as well and that frightened me more than the other boys and what they were about to do to me. We came to a little clearing in the forest and he led me to the center, kneeling down to undress me slowly, kissing me and stroking my chest while the others watched in silence. He tasted of toothpowder and tobacco, tastes I normally liked. But that morning I didn't want him to kiss me. That morning I felt like he was betraying me. Whatever he and I "had", he was soiling it by offering me up to his friends, like a lamb to the slaughter.  
  
I kept my eyes fixed on him, terrified that if I looked at the others I would start to cry. He played with my shriveled willie, prodding between my legs to finger my tiny hole and stretch it. He smiled at me again to steady himself and I smiled bravely back. This is just the way it is, we all told ourselves at Leythe. This is just what happens in life. This was just one of those things you accepted and got on with, like a death in the family or the end of a friendship.  
  
I knew it would hurt terribly. I had seen Craig return crying and limping, unable to sit for a day. I would be bruised and torn and I wouldn't want to eat. I would vomit and grow feverish. Worse, I wouldn't be allowed to ask the steward for cream or a pill to help mitigate the pain. It would get the others in trouble and I would be labeled a 'snitch' and bullied the rest of my time. I would simply have to bend over and take it and try not to cry too loudly.  
  
Ivo once remarked that I was the type to sleep with the enemy rather than fight back, that I always made it a point to appease others even when I wanted to shout at them or strike them. I cannot help but wonder if that character trait was developed during those formative years at Leythe, those formative experiences with the older boys. What possessed me -- to act as if not only did I enjoy it but _craved_ it? To speak to each of them while they violated me, whispering to them, moaning in faked pleasure for them, begging for more of it? Why did I contrive an ecstatic response when it wasn't expected of me?  
  
Why? Because although the pain was there, somehow my mind convinced my body it should enjoy the experience, that it would be better for me if I did. And to my utter surprise, I found over time I was able to summon the emotion. I was a born people pleaser. And for the first time I felt that in this position I was wanted. Needed.  
  
 _Loved_.

Simply for being cute and a good fuck.  
  
They took me repeatedly, one after the other, until the spruce needle floor was slick with their semen and my poor little hole swollen beyond recognition. I wouldn't be able to defecate for days. James had me one last time, the last for that day, kissing me softly and whispering his love for me, promising me things from home when he returned on Monday -- sweets and cigarettes and money. The other boys watched, promising me things as well in the hopes that they might be able to coax me back into the forest on their own time.  
  
I smiled to myself as I listened to their panting, watched their hands work away at their adolescent cocks. Yes I did enjoy it. Not because it aroused any desire in me. Oh no. Not that. But because I realized that for all that pain, there was something there much more rewarding than sweets or cigarettes or money.  
  
I held them in my power.


End file.
